Owen came down the next morning for breakfast, feeling a little bit uneasy. He had not slept well at all. He just couldn't believe that Cristina had a boyfriend, after saying that she was not seeing anyone. Why would she lie to him like that? It seemed like she was already at the breakfast table because he could hear her voice. It seemed that she was on the phone.
"I would like to book two tickets in the names of Helen Yang and Logan Cleary from New York to Portland, Maine," Cristina said. "The dates are from this Friday and returning on Sunday evening." She gave the agent her credit card number. "Yes, those flights are fine. Thank you."
She hung up the phone and noticed Owen coming in to the kitchen. "Good morning, Owen," she said in a cheery voice.
"Good morning," Owen said, in a less than cheery voice. "So Logan is coming?" Cristina thought that was an odd question. Of course, Logan was coming. He was her son, so he had to be coming.
"Yes," Cristina said, happily. "He'll stay in my room, Joyce. So only my mom will need a room." Owen inwardly cringed. Not only was her boyfriend coming but he was going to stay in the room with her. The thought of them, having sex in the room next to his, made his stomach churn. He had to steel himself for the weekend. He could not believe how uncomfortable it was going to be in his own house with Cristina's boyfriend there. He didn't even know the guy and he felt like pummeling him just because he was Cristina's boyfriend. Still, he consoled himself, it was only two days. He could survive that, he thought.
Joyce brought Owen his breakfast. His mood was dark at the moment. He only answered any questions with one or two words. He realized he was bitter and jealous. How could she get his hopes up that there could be something between the two of them and then to dash those hopes by bringing her damn boyfriend to his house? Cristina could tell that Owen was in not the greatest of moods. She wondered what was bothering him. She racked her brain, trying to figure out if she had done anything to upset him but she came up blank.
After breakfast, they headed to the study as they usually did. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like they were getting anywhere fast. He seemed pre-occupied and unable to think, properly. It was like pulling teeth from a dragon's mouth, she thought. Then, she had an idea. Maybe, if he couldn't get his own words going, then maybe he could listen to what she had written.
"Hey, Owen, would you like to listen to some of what I have written?" she asked, hopefully. He sighed. "Yeah, might as well. I am not getting anywhere, today, it seems. It can't hurt," he said.
"Okay," she said, excitedly. She found the document on her computer. "Okay, here goes. This is just the first chapter." She then read a couple of paragraphs, while he listened. He hadn't said anything, so she stopped. "What do you think, Owen?"
"That's so trite, Cristina. No real depth to it. It is all just pretty, flowery prose with no feeling behind it. I mean you do have a way with words but it doesn't mean anything. I was expecting much more from you than this drivel," he said. "I am not sure you have a talent for this." There was silence after he said it. What he couldn't see were that Cristina's eyes had filled with tears and they were now streaming down her face.
"I am going to get a glass of water," she said, as she left the room. She didn't want to him to hear her cry, especially since he had such a keen sense of hearing. Owen waited for her to come back. He felt maybe a half-hour had already passed. Surely, it could not take her that long to get a glass of water. He got up and found his way to the kitchen. He could hear Joyce, humming, as she prepared lunch.
"Joyce, did Cristina come in here to get a glass of water?" he asked.
"Yes, she did," Joyce said. "She came, got her water and then told me that she was going to take a walk on the beach."
"She was supposed to come back to the study to work with me," Owen said.
"I was rather surprised by that, too, but it seemed like she was crying," Joyce told him. Owen knew his words had hurt the young woman. It pained him to hear that she was crying. "Could you tell me when she gets back?" he asked. Joyce said that she would do so.
An hour passed and Joyce had not come to him. He went to the kitchen again. "I have your lunch ready, Mr. Hunt," Joyce said, as she laid the bowl of soup next to him. He sipped at the soup, hoping that Cristina would come back in time for lunch. After finishing his lunch, she still had not come back. He was getting alarmed. Suppose something had happened to her, he thought.
"Joyce, I am going to sit on the back porch and wait for her," he said. Joyce nodded. She could tell that Mr. Hunt was becoming agitated. "I am sure she will be back, soon," Joyce tried to reassure him. He wasn't so sure about that. He went out the back door and sat on the rocking chair on the porch and waited and waited.
At this point, he made a reckless decision. His anxiety about Cristina had made his rational decision making go down the tubes. He was going down to the beach to find her, even though he knew he would not be able to get back to the house without some help.
As his feet finally hit the sandy beach, he started walking, calling out her name, every few minutes. Someone asked if he needed help. He said he was looking for an Asian girl with curly hair and had the person seen her. The person replied in the negative and Owen went on his way. He knew he was walking further away from the house but his need to find Cristina was greater outweighed anything else. After about 45 minutes of being there on the beach, he knew he was lost. But still he hadn't found her. He sat down on the beach. He listened to the sounds around him, in case anyone was around to be able to guide him back to the house.
Then, he heard her voice. "Owen, what are you doing out here by yourself?" It was like hearing an angel. He stood up. "I came to find you," he said. "You were gone for so long that I was getting worried that something had happened to you."
"I needed to clear my head, that's all," she said. "Then, I stopped to help a little girl build her sand castle. It helped to pass the time."
He put out his hand for her, so she came to him and took his hand. "Well, let's get you back to the house. It was foolish of you to come out here to look for me," she said. Then, he did something really unexpected. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her.
"I am glad that I found you," he said. "Or rather that you found me. I am sorry about what I said."
"It's okay. If I am not good, then I might as well find that out, now," she said. "Though it did hurt me when you said it."
"I was in a bad mood and I took it out on you," he said. He had been angry and jealous and he had wanted to lash out at her about not telling him about her boyfriend. Especially, since he had started to get so invested in starting a relationship with her. "Your work is not drivel. You are actually a good writer. You just need some tightening up here and there. You have great potential. I will help you like you help me."
"Are you just saying that to make me feel better? I prefer you being honest with me. I don't want to delude myself in thinking that I might be able to make it as an author," she said.
"I am not lying," he said. "I am sorry I made you cry." She looked up at him. "Apology accepted," she told him.
"Cristina, I do care about you," he said. "That's why I came out here to look for you. It would have just been horrible if something had happened to you. You have been so good and kind to me and I treated you so badly."
"I do it because I care about you, too, Owen," she said. "You're a good friend. Okay, so let's get back to the house. I am hungry. I haven't had any lunch." He released his arms from around her and let her take his hand to guide him back to the house.
"It's a good thing you found me," he said. "I was starting to panic there a little bit." She laughed.
The rest of the week was productive for the pair. Owen had resigned himself to the fact that she had a boyfriend and they couldn't be a couple. But at least, she said she cared for him and it was true; she had been a wonderful friend. She had been so kind and patient with him and so willing to help him. Even if she wasn't going to be his girlfriend, she was still in his life.
On Friday night, he knew that Logan and Cristina's mom were coming. He had promised himself that he was going to be nice to Cristina's boyfriend. It still hurt, he knew but he had to be a man about it. Cristina had gone to Portland to fetch them at the airport. By the time, she got back, he would be already in bed. Around 11 p.m., he woke up to hear some activity in the bedroom next door. It seemed that Cristina was back from the airport. "Time to get into bed, Logan," he heard her say. He cringed. He had tried to not let it bother him but he couldn't help it
The next day, he heard some noises coming from the hallway outside of his bedroom. There was a loud clatter as if something had been dropped. "Oh, good grief, you dropped your bucket," he heard Cristina say. "You have to be quiet. There are people still sleeping around here. You wanted to get up early, so we have to be quiet."
Then, a small voice answered. Owen was taken aback. The small voice said, "Okay, shhhh." No way could that be a grown man, Owen thought. He called out to Cristina. She answered, "Yes, Owen. Did we wake you?" She then turned to the person she was with. "I told you not to make noise and then you drop your bucket and we woke him up."
"Can you come into my room?" Owen asked. "Sure," she answered. He could hear the door knob turning.
"Yes, Owen, can I help you?" she asked, as she stepped into the room. Owen was sure there were two sets of footsteps. He recognized Cristina's steps, immediately but there was another set of very light steps. This person had to be quite small.
"Who is with you?" he asked.
"Oh, I am sorry we're making so much noise and that we woke you up," Cristina said. "It is just me and my son, Logan."
"Logan is your son?" Owen said, his face breaking out into the hugest grin.
"Yes," she answered, a little bit puzzled. Didn't he know that Logan was her son?
"Can I meet him?" Owen asked. "Sure," Cristina answered, pulling Logan closer to the bed. She placed her son on the edge of the bed.
"Owen, I would like you to meet Logan Marcus Cleary," she said. When she said that Logan's middle name was Marcus, Owen Immediately knew that the father of the boy was her deceased fiancé, Marcus, who had died when they were about to graduate from college.
"Hey there, buddy," Owen said. "Will he allow me to touch his face?"
"Yeah," Cristina said. "Logan, he is going to touch your face. Remember I told you that he can't see so he kinda sees what you look like with his fingers."
"Okay," the little boy said. Cristina guided Owen's hands to feel her son's face. His skin was so soft, Owen thought, as he felt the boy's cheeks and his delicate features. "Hey, he has your expressive eyebrows, too." Cristina laughed. "That's the only thing he got from me," she said.
Owen ruffled the boy's curly hair. "He also has curly hair, too."
Cristina replied, "Yeah, he does but it is a different color. His coloring is like his dad's. He has golden brown hair and light brown eyes."
"Thank you, Logan, for allowing me to touch your face," Owen told the boy. Then, the boy did something really unexpected. He climbed on to Owen and gave him a hug. Owen hugged him back. "Nice to meet you, too, Logan."
"Glad to see you two getting along," Cristina said. "Logan and I are going down to the beach to collect shells and sand dollars."
"Sand dollars," Logan shrieked, excitedly. "Can I come?" Owen asked.
"Yes," Cristina said. "You don't have to change. Logan and I are just going down in our pj's. Nobody is around at this hour, so we don't care what we look like."
Owen quickly got out of bed and ran to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. "Okay, I am ready." They all went downstairs and went out the back porch. Joyce was in the kitchen, already. "We're just going to collect shells and sand dollars," Cristina told her. Joyce nodded.
So there they were on the beach. Cristina was in the middle, holding both Owen's and Logan's hands. "Ooh, here is a good spot, Logan. Lots of shells and sand dollars," she said. She told Owen to sit, while she and Logan went hunting for the shells and the sand dollars. As Owen sat there, listening to the mother and son chatter and laugh, he realized that those were some of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard.
A/N Please leave your thoughts and comments. Thanks for being kind enough to leave your reviews.